


Panty Thief

by PlumpPeachPrincess



Category: The Boy (2016 Bell)
Genre: Consensual Somnophilia, Cunnilingus, F/M, Somnophilia, dub con but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 14:38:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16834573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlumpPeachPrincess/pseuds/PlumpPeachPrincess
Summary: A commission for the reader to be specifically a plus size black woman. I still kept it kinda vague so anyone can enjoy, but it is specifically for that type of reader!The idea is Brahms has been watching you for quite some time since you have entered. He's taken some...things and you've taken notice. Also weird dreams plague you, wetness over your neck, pleasure between your thighs-Wait, they aren't dreams?





	Panty Thief

You had been so excited to be a nanny, especially for some rich family. They weren’t exactly secretive on how rich they were, or how much you were going to get paid just for taking care of a child. A job you’d love to have and got paid well? Practically anyone’s dream. You were so lucky that when you got there that they took an immediate liking to you. Said you were beautiful, very pretty, that Brahms would take a liking to you. You had laughed it off, imagining that a little kid didn’t care about looks.

But then you met the doll. This porcelain doll of their son, little, small, an armful that you could carry. With glass, emotionless eyes that seemed to watch you wherever you moved. You were polite, you understood people dealt with grief differently. After all, you’d been there too and done some pretty odd things. So, you bent at the knee, shook the cold, porcelain hand, introduced yourself and smiled nice and pretty. Feeling the praise at your back from the mother as you stood up and away.

When they said you were approved, you were both thrilled and disappointed. You didn’t get to take care of someone like you thought would happen, but you were getting paid very well to make sure a doll didn’t get a scratch on his pretty little head. So, it was fine, right?

…Right?

Signal at the mansion was null and void. The land line is all you had to call friends and family members. Not to mention the cute guy who brought the groceries and your pay. He was kind enough, a little flirty, but honestly it’s just what you needed considering how lonely you were in this big house alone. You wondered, in the back of your mind, when the parents would return from their trip. Then again, they didn’t give a definite time. And they were loaded. They could be gone for months on end, for all you knew.

The rules for Brahms weren’t…exactly followed to a T. Some of it you did, but it was just a doll. You didn’t think it would pout and stomp his pristine little boot on the ground because you didn’t play piano poorly at exactly three in the afternoon.

Of course, your life didn’t get easy.

Little things first. Your hair products would go missing. You’d tiredly get up in the morning, vision blurry and grab at air where your natural hair care products were. Something to straighten your natural, bouncy curls out. Only to blink awake and look all over the bathroom to see if it fell, or check your bedroom to see if you absentmindedly left them there. Nothing. Or a necklace you left out, vanished. Nowhere to be found. A favorite dress, gone. Panties? Nowhere in sight.

And then, the doll started to move on its own. Never when you could see it. But you swore you left him on the couch, only to find him on your bed. Sat up. Like a human. Or you’d leave him in his bedroom, in his bed, only to find him positioned on the rocking chair in his bedroom. Head turned towards your bedroom.

Okay, you had thought. Looking towards the doll one day with narrowed eyes. You had leaned close to his face, expecting him to blink, tear up, smile, giggle, do /something/. But instead you were met with a perfect, emotionless gaze. You huffed, eyes narrowed further and pushed away. You didn’t believe in ghosts or ‘troubled spirits’.

But maybe, maybe those fancy little tv shows with all their ‘ghost hunting’ gear were onto something…

And then the /dreams/ came in. You felt restless in your sleep. Wet dream after wet dream. Of a curious tongue wandering over your neck, between your legs. Fingers in your curls, twirling the natural strands and tucking them behind your ear. Hands wandering across your fuller figure with such interest and adoration. Over your full hips, your soft abdomen, squishing your thighs enough to make you think it was real. And then oh, the curiosity in those lips getting braver night by night. In your sleep, you could feel wetness between your thighs until you woke up, sweaty, night dress half thrown off and eyes blurry. A wet patch between your thighs and panties, you were sure you put on the night before, gone.

If ghosts were real, you knew it wasn’t a child. But you blamed it all on your overactive imagination. Your want to go out, go on dates, go explore.

It seemed like you were going crazy until one day he finally made his presence known to you.

He, a man, not child. Large, tall, slender but fit. Hair coating his arms and his chest, a loose tanktop and a comfy cardigan on. But most importantly, the porcelain mask. You were smart enough to try to run when you saw a figure in your house, when you thought you were alone on a stormy night. Dressed in a long night gown, you felt like you were the star of a horror movie. Crying and screaming when he caught you with ease in a few strides. But never harming you, just covering your mouth with his hand and holding your wrists above your head so you were on your tiptoes with nowhere to run.

His explanation all made sense. How he spoke in a hushed tone, mocking the voice of a child before fading into the voice of a man. Pronouncing your name with emphasis like a child would, or how he had your necklace around his wrist like a bracelet…

It all clicked. And your face flushed red when it occurred to you /who/ had been stealing your clothes. Your first thing was to ask for your favorite dress back, which he begrudgingly gave back, almost stomping like a child as you held out your hand for it. He didn’t give you your necklace back, and you didn’t ask for it. But when you asked for your hair products back, he shook his head insistently. 

“Like your hair curly.” He had stated. You were going to argue that it was your hair and you could do whatever you liked with it, but then again, feeling him twist the strands and play with them was enough to make you sigh and relent on that at least.

You didn’t ask about your panties, embarrassment too high in your lungs to ask about them.

You two came into a groove, soon enough. You weren’t lonely anymore, and taking care of a human being was way better than a doll. But even then, Brahms could be a bit childish. Hiding your things, refusing to eat the crust on his sandwiches.

But then, he could also be…tempting.

Since your discovery of him, he has taken to resting in your bed on nights he refuses to sleep in his own bed. You like it, how he gets close, arms around you and face in your hair. His light snores put you at ease. But you’ve noticed him, how his fingers wander when he thinks you’re asleep. You drop your breathing low, feel him feel you. Up your thighs, over your hips, under your night shirt. Heat pounding in your core with absolute need. For him to do something. You know that he could, those wet dreams weren’t /just/ wet dreams, now, were they?

It comes one night as you lie in bed with him. You’re relaxed, on that verge of sleep but curiosity keeps you awake. Fingers, spider-like and warm run over down your curve and over your hip. You sigh in your ‘sleep’, listen to him halt his breathing and hold his hand right there before continuing.

You pretend to be restless. Rolling from your spooned position to on your back. You hear his breathing get heavier, feel the cold porcelain of his mask tuck against your shoulder and warm fingers trail back down. Hitching up your night shirt to above your abdomen so he can feel you up. Warmth blossoms between your thighs, which part with ease when he gently eases one of them between his thighs, spreading you apart.

You don’t stop him, feeling his fingers trace back and forth over your slit through your underwear. Pressing on your mound inqusitively and making you sigh softly.

You’re so relaxed that your brain fizzles in and out of focusing. But it hyper focuses when the warmth is gone from your side and now your panties are gone. Replaced with two fingers inside of you, pressing and curling like some teenager whose never touched anyone experimenting the first time. But it feels good enough that your hips raise partially and your sleepy mind can comprehend there’s pleasure. A thumb knocking against your clit when fingers curiously twist makes you let out a breathy moan, making the fingers halt.

There’s a breath or two of waiting, you’re stiff, wondering if you ruined it. But then you hear Brahms let out a shaky, deep moan and pull his fingers out. You hear the sound of porcelain sliding over skin, the wet sound of a mouth and tongue licking and swallowing around fingers, then a deep growl-like noise. And you can’t hold it.

“Brahms-” You whine out, peeking your heavy eyes open to see him looking at you from behind his mask. Eyes wide and worried like he’s done something wrong, his loose pants doing no favors in hiding his hard on and how he’d been palming it pathetically like he didn’t know what to do. But you know he does, considering your panties were never found. And you only found one pair that were curiously wet and smelt musky.

It doesn’t take him long to get he’s not in trouble, not when you confidently spread your legs and use two of your fingers to spread your lower, swollen lips apart to reveal the pinkness of your insides. You must look like quite the mess, your night shirt pulled up to expose your dark, soft flesh and a single breast. Your curls splayed out over the pillow and lips parted to pant with arousal.

With a growl, he crawls overtop of you. Burying his face in your hair and you can hear him inhale deeply. One hand keeping him up on one side of your head, the other fumbling to pull down his lounge pants to mid-thigh and whip out his cock. The heat and hardness of it slipping between your folds and your hand releases from between your own thighs to grab him. Pumping him a few times to hear him whine and falter before letting the head nudge and nestle on your hole.

He wastes no time in moving into you. It makes your eyes widen before your face scrunches up, shutting your eyes and wrapping your arms around his neck, legs around his waist and crossing your ankles behind his calves. He’s inexperienced, but his precise thrusts let you know he’s done this with his fist before.

Brahms is much louder than you’d imagine. Whining under his breath, hips pistoning forward shakily like he can’t get enough of your soft body. Leaning back and holding your thighs, sliding hands up to your hips as your head tosses back in pleasure. But you can feel his eyes on you in the darkness, watching your tummy and breasts bounce in time with him.

Your name is whispered from his lips frequently, heavily breathing before he practically snarls out. “Mine…mine…MINE!” You whine in response, his thrusts getting heavier, harder, snapping his hips forward messily as you nod furiously in reply.

Your inner walls squeeze and contract, your vision going white and blurry as pleasure bubbles just below your lower abdomen. You sob out a ‘please’ and you know he thinks he’s done something wrong with the way his hips falter, but you give up. Rolling him over until you’re on top. Straddling his hips and situating yourself so he’s pressed into you deeper, much to both your delight.

You shuck off your night shirt, press hands to his chest and start riding like your life depends on it. Using your calves to push you upwards and using your body weight to crush downwards towards his hips. Watching his eyes scrunch closed and his hands desperately pat and clutch your hips and thighs. You feel rather powerful, you’ll admit. But it doesn’t take you long, the loud, wet slapping of skin on skin aiding in the lewdness of it all and you wind up cumming first with a cry. Crushing your hips down to his and grinding furiously to get friction on your clit.

And oh the sound he makes, breathless, needy, wanting, hips frantically humping up against you before he lets out a shuddering cry and cums. Heated rope after rope of cum pouring into you as you sigh with pleasure. Letting his hands wander tiredly over your abdomen and up to your soft, plump, hanging breasts that he squeezes gently between his fingers, then back down to your tummy.

“You were awake…” He breaks the silence, and you can /feel/ his pout from behind the mask, watching his dark eyes looking up at you. Looking wet and glassy from the prior pleasure and you can’t help but laugh, reaching up to stroke the porcelain cheek.

“Be rougher with me next time, and maybe I won’t have to ‘wake up’, got it?” You murmur, and he nods enthusiastically.

“Yes, ma’am.”


End file.
